


one way ticket

by Ceryna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, because hot springs exist, brief innuendo, day trip, mentions of non-sexual nudity, the getaway episode in their third year at inarizaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceryna/pseuds/Ceryna
Summary: >>> osasuna week day one, tier one & three fusion || past//future || you make me laugh until i die, can you think of any better way to choke [Glory, Bastille]Rintarou read that it takes an hour to hike if you walk slowly, so it’s not a surprise that he and Osamu reach the peak in about forty minutes. It’s the highest peak on the island, standing just over six hundred meters above sea level, but with Osamu at his side, they might just be at the top of the world.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 30
Kudos: 159
Collections: OsaSuna Week 2020, SunaOsa





	one way ticket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bastigod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/gifts).



> i sat down to brainstorm what i thought would be poem/drabble concepts for osasuna week, then put together the essential Bastille playlist for the event, stuck Glory on repeat and thus began this idea. I got the ending scene first, and two days later started writing this journey to get there. nothing like a good old mental deadline to get me to write 4.8k in three days!
> 
> For Basti - You're a gift, dear, and I'm grateful for your love and support. You spark joy in my life, and I'm honored to call you a friend ♡ Please take my love and support in the form of this fic, I hope you like it!! 
> 
> Thank you to Lou and Grace for the beta-reads!! You came in clutch, and I appreciate your help in fine-tuning the fic into, well, this!
> 
> Please enjoy.

Rintarou leans against the slate grey gate of the Miya residence, hands stuffed into his pockets as he waits. The morning air is cool, borderline brisk - he tugs up the collar of his jacket to hide his mouth. Rain lingers on the horizon, charcoal thunderclouds looming against the otherwise misty blue sky. 

A sigh shifts his shoulders in the slightest of shrugs. While he made efforts to plan, the world likes to throw wrench after wrench into them - but that doesn’t stop his mouth from curving up into a smile as the door clicks open. There’s a _clack_ as it falls shut, followed by whispers of a familiar curse as keys jangle, and then sneakers glide over pavement. 

Osamu’s quiet run gives him enough force to vault over the gate, shoes thudding into asphalt a sidewalk square away from Rintarou. He didn’t have to vault - but he holds mostly unrumpled brown paper bags, one in each hand. He extends the left one to Rintarou, his smile curving prettily into his cheek.

The warmth spreads a flush down the back of Rintarou’s neck. He swipes the proffered bag with his right hand, using the left to curl the paper so he can peer inside. He blinks, then turns back to Osamu. “These are the tuna ones.”

Osamu bites his lip, holding in a laugh. “Yep.”

A laugh blooms in Rintarou’s chest. He lets it linger there, warm and stifling, and crumples the paper shut. Closing his left hand around it, he tucks Osamu’s free fingers into his hand, murmuring, “C’mon.” Jerking his head towards the station, he takes them a step closer to their adventure. "Won't be long before Tsumu puts a bounty on our heads."

Osamu’s fingers tighten around Rintarou’s. “Where’re ya taking me today, partner in crime?” he asks in a breathless whisper, his words a caress over Rintarou’s jaw. 

Rintarou’s smile drifts up into a smirk. It peeks over the collar of his jacket, and he hooks a finger around the fabric to pull it down so Osamu can see it in full. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

# ***

The platforms in Kobe Station are quietly busy. Early hours of the morning are prime commute times, meaning it’s hell heading into the city - which is why Rintarou made plans for them to _leave._

But in order to make their escape, they must first survive their trip on the JR bound for west of Kobe. It’s twenty-three minutes packed in one of the aisles away from the door, hanging to each other instead of the handles from the ceiling - those are for amateurs. They both have a pair of earbuds, ends nestled into a splitter so they can listen to whatever Osamu’s Spotify has decided to recommend him this time. 

Since his library has been taken over by Rintarou’s music, it’s not terrible.

They stumble from the car at Maiko Station, sleeved forearms barely brushing under the watchful eyes of strangers around them. The trains rumble along the tracks as they match their pace to a half-step slower than the crowd, trailing after them along the platform overpass, through the turnstiles and into the salted air of Osaka Bay.

Osamu points at the park across the street, precisely where Rintarou intended for them to eat - and lingers at one of the vending machines outside the station. He punches the buttons for a can of coffee, swiping his Pasmo. 

And before Rintarou can even attempt to stop him, Osamu presses the button for a cold cream coffee, flashing his Pasmo over the panel and grinning as a second drink _clunks_ into the tray. He offers the cold coffee to Rintarou, snags his arm around Rintarou’s elbow and spurs them to jaywalk across the mostly empty road.

They break into their onigiri breakfast in Maiko Park, the sounds of their munching muffled by the waves splashing against the concrete barriers below. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on one of the tiny benches overlooking the Bay is more comfortable than it sounds. The hints of the sunrise ignite the clouds beyond the misty blue - Rintarou hopes that means the weather will cooperate, as he’s certain he didn’t bring an umbrella. 

The thunderclouds loom over the mountains behind them. Osamu, already done with his onigiri breakfast, slings his bag over his shoulder and produces his shoddy umbrella - the off-gold, vaguely piss-looking one he’d been gifted as a joke. “S’alright if it rains,” he drawls. “Just another reason to stand next to ya.”

Rintarou takes a long gulp of his coffee before he deigns himself ready to respond. “Maybe we should just get drenched,” he says lowly, folding a smirk into his tone - but an involuntary smile graces his mouth, because he knows, _knows_ the matching glint in Osamu’s eyes means he heard the other half of the sentence.

_Then we can spend tomorrow together, too._

# ***

They take the bus over the Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge. It’s fairly empty - not many people would be going over to the island before eight in the morning, especially on a school day, which is exactly why Rintarou wanted to go. To get away, _away,_ and be alone - which, by definition, includes Osamu. 

It should be more exciting, Rintarou supposes, as the vehicle trundles over the world’s longest suspension bridge. The engine is a near silent whir as it takes them over swaths of stormy blue - not glittering beneath sunlight, instead roaring waves and whirlpools that echo in Rintarou’s ears. 

Osamu’s hand slips into his. Smooth skin, patterned with calluses Rintarou’s long since memorized, meets his palm. They have about an hour until they reach the south side of the island, where they’ll get on the first ferry out to see those whirlpools firsthand. 

They’re back to Osamu’s phone, watching a documentary with the earbud splitter when the audio is overwritten with a series of pings.

**Sumu** **08:11**

u ran off with sunarin again didn’t u  
mom knew and let this happen???   
top ten family betrayals

Osamu chuckles into Rintarou’s sleeve. He slumps further in his seat, thumb swiping down on the screen to scroll back through more of Tsumu’s sour messages.

**Sumu 06:33**

wtf where are u  
breakfast date with sunarin????? :P ew

**Sumu 06:41**

TF U GAVE HIM MY TUNA ONIGIRI????????

**You 06:45**

all onigiri in the fridge are mine  
because i make them

**Sumu 06:46**

shut up u know the tuna ones are 4 me  
when i see u at school… it’s on sIGHT 

**You 06:47**

ha   
good luck with that

**Sumu 06:49**

ಠ_ಠ  
somethin’s not right… 

**Sumu 07:13**

skipping morning practice, both of u???   
so distracted on ur date u forgot u had class

**You 07:14**

practice isn’t mandatory today ┐(￣ヘ￣)┌  
we said so last week

**Sumu 08:09**

yall nasty

Suna plucks the phone from Osamu’s hand, index finger swiping over the screen. He types three words, tilts the screen back towards Osamu, and lets Osamu press the arrow to send it.

**You 08:12**

co-captain boyfriend privileges

**Sumu 08:13**

shaddup sunarin class is starting  
breakfast thieves aren’t allowed to borrow my notes ;P

Osamu presses a kiss to the back of Rintarou’s hand. He swipes away the conversation, folds himself further into Rintarou’s side, and continues playing the documentary.

Rintarou isn’t really watching - his gaze attuned instead to the trees and buildings flying by - but he listens as the narrator rambles on about the history of bamboo in food, and clasps Osamu’s hand in his just a little bit tighter.

# ***

They make it to the Whirlpools Cruise center in time for the first departure. At nine am they set off aboard the boat with a name that makes Rintarou pull his bottom lip into his mouth, preventing laughter as Osamu masks a snort as a sneeze into Rintarou’s sleeve.

The _Wonder Naruto_ sails them into the bay, slings saltwater into their faces and stings their skin with brisk breezes. They speed towards the center of the bridge, swirls of turquoise and seafoam growing larger and larger, until the boat sits at the edge. 

Snailshell curls raze the otherwise glassy surface. Though Rintarou knows the ocean will be bone-chilling, that the currents will pull him under and saltwater will creep into his mouth - he wonders what it would be like to live in that moment. For minerals to crystallize in his lungs, to be lost to indigo and swim, swim into unending ebony and see what waits below. He’s curious, but not curious enough to find out.

His anchor stands behind him, silver-grey hair tickling his cheek as he rests a chin on Rintarou’s shoulder. They peer into the depths, which both of them know are not all that deep - but they tune out the guide in favor of listening to each other. 

Osamu’s thumb brushes over Rintarou’s wrist, hidden between them as they stand along the starboard edge. “What’re ya thinkin’?” he murmurs into Rintarou’s collarbone. 

Rintarou lifts his free hand, pointing at the currents colliding beneath the surface, churning foam in spirals. “If that’s the future…” He sighs, the noise lost to the wind as it whips around them - “where do I go?”

Osamu huffs. “Don’t get stuck in others’ currents,” he says. “Find your own, let it carry you.”

“And if it carries me away from you?” It isn’t a lump in Rintarou’s throat, but it’s an anchor of his own inside his chest, magnetizing the thing between his ribs so he no longer knows which path to follow.

“Trust that it’ll carry you back.” Osamu lifts his head from Rintarou’s shoulder, looking at Rintarou with the warmth of complete faith. “It may carry you away, far away, and if so I want you to go. _Go,_ knowing that…” he pauses, biting his lip as he ensures he has Rintarou’s complete attention - oh, does he ever - and continues, “Knowing that mine will carry me to you.”

Rintarou’s self-control escapes him as he turns his head to the left, brushing his lips against Osamu’s forehead. “Sap,” he mutters into the skin, and is rewarded with a chuckle. 

“Like you aren’t one too.” Osamu’s thumb brushes over where Rintarou’s pulse hammers in his wrist, soothing the jumping vein with calm strokes. 

Rintarou lets a laugh spill out. The sound is short-lived, but his sides shake with mirth for Osamu to feel. “Never said I wasn’t.”

# ***

They’re back on another bus before ten, heading over to Mt. Yuzuruha. They have to transfer partway through, once they get into Minamiawaji so they can reach the hiking trail that starts at Tsuruha Dam. 

Rintarou read that it takes an hour to hike if you walk slowly, so it’s not a surprise that he and Osamu reach the peak in about forty minutes. It’s the highest peak on the island, standing just over six hundred meters above sea level, but with Osamu at his side, they might just be at the top of the world. 

Osamu glances theatrically from left to right, stirring a laugh into Rintarou’s gut. Looking out over the island, on a day where rain still threatens to shatter open the horizon, on a day when the world spins on as usual, people going into work and school as usual, the sea crashes against the shore as usual - up here, they’re alone.

Alone, but together, as Osamu makes clear when his mouth lands on Rintarou’s, sweet and lingering. “You taste like tuna,” he mutters against Rintarou’s lips, nudging that laughter into open air where it rumbles, heady and free. 

“Whose fault is that?”

“Some annoying setter’s, surely.” Osamu waves a hand loosely, blase until Rintarou snags those flying, pretty fingers between his own. A blush dusts his cheeks - completely unrelated to the mild exertion it took them to ascend six hundred meters closer to the sky. 

Rintarou brings those fingers to his mouth and kisses each one. “Let’s get rid of the tuna, shall we?” he says, pulling Osamu back towards the mountain trail - and then they’re racing down the paths, dirt passing by under their sneakers as Rintarou feels his heart fly, fly, and _fly._

# ***

It takes them two bus transfers, another hour and seventeen minutes before they arrive at the Parchez Herb Garden and Spa, striding into the buffet. Osamu reaches for his wallet, but Rintarou has already slipped two two-thousand yen bills into the tray in front of a confused, but politely smiling hostess. 

She opens the register, swaps the bills for four hundred-yen coins, and places the tray back in front of Rintarou.

Rintarou pockets the change and nudges Osamu into the room. “We have ninety minutes,” he says, eyeing the bamboo steamers filled with gyoza - and the fruit platters set on the far side of the room.

“Should we _try_ to make them regret letting us eat here?”

Rintarou can hear the smirk in Osamu’s words as they veer towards the collection of plates. “I think they already do,” he mutters, unable to keep the mirth out of his tone as he heaps rice and steamed vegetables onto his plate. He eyes the comical stack of dumplings on Osamu’s plate. “You’re sharing.” 

It’s not a question, but one of Osamu’s eyebrows inches up as he grins in answer. “Rin,” he says lowly, sending a shiver over Rintarou’s shoulders, one that resounds between his ribs, echoing and echoing. “You don’t hafta ask.”

So Rintarou _doesn’t._ They sit on opposite sides of a narrow booth, squishing their bags into the inside as they take turns stepping on each other’s feet. Rintarou steals gyoza after gyoza, and Osamu pilfers all the pineapple from Rintarou’s fruit platter. 

It isn’t an even trade, but they’ve never been exact about these kinds of things. It’s not really taking if all they do is _give_ \- give each other reasons to laugh, reasons to take turns paying, reasons to run away from responsibilities in the middle of the week. 

Reasons to not fear the rain, the currents of life that may well endanger them. Reasons to smudge the charcoal looming on the horizon, folding it beneath fingertips and stain them beneath artistic vision. 

Reasons to be in love.

Rintarou picked Parchez as their lunch to mid-afternoon respite, not simply for its food and herb emporium, but because he pictured himself and Osamu crammed into the workshop, mixing herbs and aromas into soap they shape with their own hands. Folding feelings between their fingers, enveloping them in lavender and molding them to give them shape, to give them wings.

After they’ve thoroughly ransacked the buffet, making sure to not leave a mess in their wake - they stroll through the herb gardens, stopping every so often so Osamu can read and smell and learn. Rintarou doesn’t learn much about the herbs, but that’s okay. He knows Osamu will teach him later.

Instead, he takes the time to observe Osamu’s focus off the court - how his shoulders hang, stress-free, as he rattles off some cooking knowledge that sparks excitement in his eyes. Osamu’s elbow loops around Rintarou’s as he pulls him along, along, right into the workshop to make the soap.

Osamu has his wallet out in record time, proffering fifteen hundred yen for them to press lavender oil into rosehip, to spend thirty-seven minutes pressed into each other on a wooden bench attached to a wooden table, surrounded by a sanctuary of flowers and herbs that bloom, bloom, and _bloom._

# ***

It looks like rain could pour down from the skies at any second by the time they make their way back to the bus stop. They slink aboard and droop into the backseat, Rintarou peering out the window as they pull away from the curb. 

Osamu joins him. He leans across Rintarou’s lap, stretching his torso over Rintarou’s thighs until his chin sits on the far armrest. He sighs, content, as Rintarou’s hand finds his hip and idles there. Rintarou rests his chin on Osamu’s head. It’s comfortable - no, _comforting_ \- to be stacked together to the point of collapsing into each other. As if they were an off-balance jenga tower, should they fall, they’d land together. Not necessarily safely, not necessarily unhurt - but together.

The flowers of Awaji Hanasajiki loom beyond a wall as the bus trundles along the highway to their next destination. The ocean steadily disappears as the road weaves them back to the other side of the island. The lull lures Osamu into a short nap, and Rintarou cards his hand through soft silver-dyed strands, sweeps them away from Osamu’s forehead in the rhythm of the tides.

He’s reluctant to wake Osamu as they approach their stop, but he elbows the とまれ button by the window, glistening it orange-red as he prods Osamu’s shoulder. “Sleepyhead,” he murmurs, enough affection in the tone to bring a blush to his own face, scurrying crimson over the backs of his ears.

“Tha’s me,” Osamu slurs, drowsy but waking quickly. He turns on Rintarou’s lap, his hand rising to graze the underside of Rintarou’s chin - and sits up as the bus slides to a halt. They clamber off it, walking the few blocks until they reach the botanical gardens. 

Kiseki no Hoshi is different from the other botanical gardens on the island, Rintarou recalls from his planning. It has a series of themed exhibition halls and showrooms, dedicated to a variety of messages - coexisting with nature and healing are the two he’s able to remember as they enter the atrium. 

To Osamu’s not-quite-dismay, Rintarou pays the fee for their tickets. He leads them to the flower show space first - they pass through double-doors and into the “fern room” that looks like a Ghibli movie set. Warm light drifts in through the skylights overhead, a comically large leaf towers from a singular stem, pink blossoms accent an otherwise earthen, green-brown room.

Osamu snags Rintarou’s forearm. “C’mere,” he whispers, leading them down the path until they stand next to the leaf. Pulling out his phone, he flips the camera around and motions Rintarou under the paper-thin plant plateau. “Get under tha umbrella.”

Rintarou has to stoop to make this work, locking his knees in a half-squat as he leans in, in, placing his face right next to Osamu’s under an olive-colored canopy. 

Osamu holds his thumb down on the _capture_ button, turning to press a kiss to the corner of Rintarou’s mouth. It’s brief, hardly a second of contact but it tingles Rintarou all over, makes the backs of his knees tremble as his smile grows into a smirk. 

Fireworks thud in his chest, dance under his skin. He is almost fearless, snagging Osamu’s hand and holding tight - not letting go despite how clammy both their fingers are after they make it through the flower show space and healing gardens. He doesn’t let up even after the tropical gardens, unable to untether himself from the roots of his affection. 

Not until they make it back outside, strolling through the open air garden. Roses bloom here, glimmering brightly against forest greens. Rintarou drags Osamu to the gazebo, ducking under white wooden archways as his sneakers steady over stone. 

The rain starts to pour, then, misting around them as it whispers stories from seas far away, from the mountaintops it passed to arrive here - here, where Rintarou cups his hands around Osamu’s jaw and brings their lips to meet.

Osamu tastes of lavender, of bittersweet pineapple with a hint of mint and he’s all Rintarou has ever dared to want. He curls that thought under his tongue, runs it underneath Osamu’s, and leaves it in his mouth, stinging saccharine as they break for air. 

“I love you,” he says, something he’s only admitted aloud twice before - but as Osamu tilts their foreheads together, noses brushing as raindrops drum overhead, stealing Rintarou’s bottom lip into his mouth - Rintarou thinks he’d like to say it again.

Three little words have the power to move mountains, to quiet seas or to surge them. 

Rintarou just likes how they nestle these moments with Osamu further between his ribs, burrowing gently into his soul. 

# ***

They could take the bus to Eshima - it would make more sense, given the rain thundering down overhead - but instead they squish together under Osamu’s too-small-for-two umbrella, an octagon of sodden gold as they trek along the coast. 

It’s not windy, and the downpour seems to be lightening up as they go. They stick to the sidewalk, the ocean dipping between buildings as they follow it up the coastline. Maps said it would take maybe fifty minutes for the average person - but neither he nor Osamu are average.

They soar above it, hand in hand as they make their way through heaven’s tears. Eventually the tears slow to a drizzle, the long-forgotten sun peeking through a veil of clouds. Osamu still holds the umbrella between them. 

As sunlight floats through cracking water vapor, casting a glimmer over the Bay, Rintarou moves to snag the umbrella. 

Osamu veers out of reach, stepping in front of Rintarou to walk backwards - keeping the flimsy roof above their heads. “It’s still rainin’,” he lies, tucking himself neatly back into Rintarou’s side with a smirk that Rintarou is incredibly tempted to kiss right off his face.

Rintarou wraps his hand around Osamu’s, the one clutching the fabric of the umbrella handle. “Let me have a turn,” he says, tugging up as Osamu relinquishes his hold.

Now sure that Rintarou won’t put it away, Osamu smiles - then points to the rock formation off the coast several blocks ahead. “Tha’s it?”

“Eshima,” Rintarou confirms. He holds the umbrella, never once considers it a burden as they walk across the bridge to the tiny island. The eroded sandstone is part of Japan’s creation myth, Kuniumi - supposedly, the entire island of Awaji itself is where Shinto deities created the land that came to be known as Japan.

Tides swirled silt into mountains, clay sprung from volcanic depths, worn down by wind and rain and time. Awaji, from which Izanagi and Izanami churned the world to build the nation Rintarou calls home.

Rintarou isn’t one to believe in superstition, though he likes to learn of legends. He maintains a careful balance between fate and free will, refusing destiny unless it suits him and chasing freely after what he wants. He’s reluctant to call himself afraid… although it wouldn’t be wrong to say so.

It won’t be long before he has to say farewell to his high school days, to bid welcome to a certain professional volleyball team based in Eastern Japan - to say farewell to living thirteen blocks from Osamu, sitting in the classroom next to Osamu’s, to days like this for an indeterminate amount of time.

Nostalgia slides between his ribs, clenching a fist between them. It’s strange, to be missing a moment while it’s still happening - and as Osamu pulls him along the path to the top of the island, fingers tightening around his, salt stings the edges of his eyes.

“Stop it.” Osamu chides him as they stand under the beige Torii gate, swiping his thumbs into kohl-marked corners. “Stop missing me when ‘m righ’ here.”

A sob-laugh wrenches its way out of Rintarou’s throat. He slumps forward, resting his forehead against Osamu’s shoulder. “You’re right,” he murmurs into Osamu’s slate-colored windbreaker.

They’re on the island where gods created Japan. It’s only right that Rintarou creates memories of his own, surges those tides to build a monument to Osamu, and climbs aboard his currents, chasing after dreams and legends. 

“You’re right,” Rintarou repeats as Osamu’s fingers curl into his hair, carding through mildly damp strands with too much tenderness. Lips brush his forehead - and Rintarou feels the whispered _I love you_ drape a warm blanket over his shoulders, curl the soothing astringence of hot green tea over his tongue.

Angling the umbrella towards the path where they came, his free hand snags Osamu’s collar and trails up, up, cupping fingers under Osamu’s chin. He tilts until he can swipe that green tea over Osamu’s lips, murmurs an _I love you_ into his mouth. 

And when Osamu smiles against Rintarou’s lips, fingers locking around the back of his neck to pull him closer, Rintarou knows he’s the luckiest person alive.

# ***

They take the bus, fifteen minutes until they arrive at Rintarou’s last stop. Matsuhonosato Onsen sits atop a hill overlooking the Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge. It’s technically a resort, so it has an eatery and several indoor and outdoor baths.

Osamu heads for the counter, slapping down the exact change required to use the hot springs. “So this’s why ya said ta bring a towel,” Osamu whispers, loosing a quiet “heh” as they head into the changing room. 

“Was ‘getting drenched’ not enough of a clue?”

“Mm, I s’pose,” Osamu replies. He holds open the door to one of the mauve metal lockers, allowing Rintarou to squish in their belongings and clothes. “Give a guy some warnin’, Rin.” Osamu grins, holding his hands over his eyes - but his fingers are splayed as he peeks through. His lips curl into a smirk as an eyebrow twitches with mischief. “Ya got us an overnight reservation I dunno ‘bout?”

Rintarou blinks, shuddering at the implication. “Not tonight,” he answers evenly, swinging the locker door shut. But his cheeks bloom crimson and carmine swaths over his ears and down his neck. “Would you like that?”

Osamu’s cheeks go sakura pink as he sputters. “S’it bad if I do?”

Rintarou pretends to consider this. “No,” he says, before he actually loses his mind to considering it. “Not at all.” That part comes out more strangled than he intends - but it’s okay. Osamu lets him know by brushing his pinky against Rintarou’s as he slides open the door to the baths.

The indoor baths are busy, so they hastily wash clean at neighboring shower stalls. Conditioner follows shampoo - then a layer of foaming soap before they rinse clean and head out the door to the open-air baths. 

A semblance of a sunset greets them. Colors are trapped behind a half-wall of clouds, glowing primrose as they settle into a corner of the baths. Cool air washes over Rintarou’s face as his body is scalded in welcome warmth. Their towels, matching Inarizaki black, rest on the stones surrounding the onsen. 

He looks back at the Akashi-Kaikyo Bridge, the roads that led them to their adventures - and, as Osamu’s fingers brush Rintarou’s hip beneath the water, promise many more.

They linger a bit too long in the steam, emerging with blushing faces and relaxed smiles. A solemn atmosphere greets them as they slip back into their clothes, retrieving their bags from their locker before dipping into the cafeteria.

Despite the chill, they eat their beef bowls out on the terrace as the sun falls beyond the horizon. Primrose yields to indigo ink, and the bridge lights up to guide them home. 

Home, to which Rintarou doesn’t want to return - but he lets Osamu lead him, hand in hand, aboard the bus. He squeezes tight as they bid a silent farewell to the onyx water in Osaka Bay, and they do _not_ jaywalk across the street to Maiko Station. 

They wait, pinkies tangled together under polyester sleeves, for the signal to flash green and chirp that it’s safe to cross - swiping Pasmos and meandering back to the platform that will carry them back to Kobe, back to reality as today is lost to a dream.

# ***

They ride three stops before Osamu grabs Rintarou’s sleeve, tugging him off the train fifteen minutes too early. 

But he’s all smiles as he leads them out the south exit of the station, down the stairs to still-damp sand. That irresistible glint in his eyes churns the currents in Rintarou’s gut - and has him slipping off his shoes and socks, hooking a finger around the heels as they stride towards the ocean. 

Moonlight glints overhead, gleaming down upon the waves as they slosh ashore. Osamu sets his shoes and bag down a safe distance away from the sea, and he rolls up his athletic pants, folding the hem over and over until they make ridiculous balloons around his knees.

But he takes one step towards the waves, pivoting on his heel and curls his index finger, ever so slowly, in Rintarou’s direction. “C’mon,” he says, quirking an eyebrow until Rintarou stoops to hike up his own pants - tucking his hand into Osamu’s waiting one.

And then they’re running, Osamu laughing as they stumble into icy tides, dipping their calves into the chill until they’re no longer sure if they’re giggling or shivering. 

They bask in an ocean of stars, frost numbing their feet as Rintarou’s gaze catches Osamu’s and holds it. He treasures these reckless moments, the parts of themselves they reserve for each other - and brings Osamu close. 

Osamu stands on Rintarou’s feet, pressing the soles into silt and sand. Salted air stings their skin, sea spray splashing against their entwined fingers, reaching all the way up to their lips as they collide, open and unafraid. 

Rintarou leans into Osamu. He sinks his toes into that silt to ground them amidst the tides of the world, and lets himself forget he has things to return to.

They have a train to catch, but it’s alright if they miss it. Right here, right now, he knows he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story (^^)
> 
> comments help fuel my writing! i'd love to know your favorite line, what you liked about the story, or if you'd like to see more Osasuna from me! ^^ 
> 
> I'm on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/Ceryna_writes)!


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